The Babe really needs a new nickname… she is no longer a baby. She has… gulp… started pre-school officially. As in, not just coming into work with me. She started last week, and things are a bit rocky but we’ll get there. She’s still only staying for short sessions, and will soon settle I know, but she is a bit clingy and worried at home.
By clingy, I mean gripping my leg sobbing “Don’t leave me Mummy!” And refusing to sleep the whole night in her own bed, coming in to us in the wee hours, climbing into the middle and wrapping her arms tightly around my neck. Pushing herself up against me, so that I instinctively move back. And back. Until I teeter precariously on the edge of the mattress. At which point she
manouvers maneuvers manoeuvres wiggles around until her cold little feet are up against Himself’s neck so he flinches away. Also to the edge of the bed. And then she sighs happily, and goes back to sleep. Widthways.
By worried, I mean stroppy and bad tempered. “I. SAID. I. WANT. XYZ*!!!” Emphatic and slowly drawn out, as if I am a moron who didn’t quite understand her first demand. Foot stamping, arms crossed. Hurrumph! Tossing her hair around and turning her back. The message is quite clear. I am simply not jumping quickly enough. Bad
Neither attitude is endearing her to me. Sigh. Stop throwing your weight around, just because you finally** have weight to throw. And seriously. Treating me as a traitor because I am offering you the chance to play with clay, and jump in a sandpit, and paint, and glue, and romp in the snow, and cuddle the resident pets. Well. I am obviously pure evil, aren’t I?
Hurry up and settle in, Babe. But, uh, don’t grow up too quickly, hmm?
*Generally food related. Probably the cause of the double starred footnote.
**From 11.3kg in hospital at the start of December to almost 12kg now. OMG. I suppose at least now I’ll have a reason to buy her a new coat.